


The Perfect Misdirect

by Aja



Category: Now You See Me (Movies)
Genre: Banter, M/M, Misdirection, Social engineering, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 06:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13140936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aja/pseuds/Aja
Summary: Daniel's not quite getting the trick. Dylan's here to help.





	The Perfect Misdirect

**Author's Note:**

  * For [reserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/reserve/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Reserve! This pairing was a blast, thank you!

"What have I been telling you?" Dylan asks exasperatedly, after the third time in a row that Daniel has failed in trial runs for the hack they're trying to pull off. They're targeting a ring of disgruntled corporate credit flunkies who've been filtering bank data to the Russians, and to properly publicly humiliate them — Lula's taken to calling them Anonymous on crack — they need to convince a couple of assistants to pass them through to the inner circle. This is Daniel's job, and normally he'd have no problem, except that they've flagged one of the assistants as a major skeptic — as in, she goes to weekly bar nights, the whole deal — which means she's likely going to be immediately suspicious of any and all attempts at social engineering. 

That means Danny has to use something he normally doesn't brush off and practice very often: charm. 

Case in point: his response, just now, and the way he's barely refraining from eyerolling at Dylan.

"You _can't_ go in ego first, Atlas," Daniel says, in a mock imitation of Dylan that would be insulting if it weren't so ridiculously wrong. "You have to go in all smiles and blank curiosity — you have to flatter, not bluster, your way in." He gives in at last and side-eyes Dylan, arms crossed and pulling the line of his perfectly tailored suits across his chest. Good, great, thanks for that distraction, Danny.

"Okay, first," says Dylan, wresting his eyes away, "I do not sound like that. Secondly, you're thinking about this as an insult, a hindrance to the way you normally work. You've gotta think about it as a different form of what you always do."

"What's that mean?"

Ever since they roasted Tressler and Mabry they've been staying at four-star hotels whenever they get together. And maybe that's been a little more frequent than it used to be since Danny dragged him out of the Thames. And maybe Dylan has been indulging Daniel's ego a little too much by letting him have the posh suites and the killer skyline views and the completely unnecessary trips to places like Dubai and KL and Vegas — Daniel does love flash, and cities like these look good on him. They're back in Macau at the moment, on the excuse of visiting their favorite magic shop but really because Daniel loves the card-counting and Dylan loves polishing up his Mandarin. Daniel is wearing a navy suit with some kind of subtle herringbone pattern and the lights of the city are criss-crossing it through the sea of windows in their suite, like they're in some kind of high-class disco. His Jewfro has thankfully grown out again, and Dylan's not even going to try to pretend he hasn't missed getting his hands in that deliciously curly mop of hair — in a perfectly innocent, brotherly way, of course. 

Ugh, really, who is he kidding. Daniel looks at him lately like he can't decide whether he wants to make Dylan disappear or make Dylan come. Hell, it's Daniel, so it's probably all the same thing to him and his perpetual game of one-upmanship with everyone he meets.

He can't one-up Dylan, though. Dylan is starting to suspect he doesn't really want to. 

"It means," he says patiently, "That you're going to enact the perfect misdirection on her. You have to make her think she holds all wisdom, and then ask her nicely to impart it to you instead of bludgeoning her about the head with _your_ knowledge. It's a misdirect because she'll be looking where you want her to look — inside her own knowledge bank — and failing to notice you manipulating her."

A smirk plays about Daniel's lips — and that's definitely a misdirection because he _has_ to know how distracted Dylan gets by his mouth. Dylan redirects himself. "You can scoff all you want, but we only have a few days to pull this off," he reminds Daniel.

"So show me, then," says Daniel, stepping closer, stepping right into Dylan's personal space. Dylan is suddenly very glad they've been meeting for one-on-ones, just the two of them. It's not that he doesn't appreciate Daniel having to work together with all the other horsemen — not that he doesn't enjoy working with them himself. But he and Daniel have that chemistry that can only come from the push and pull of two people who are simultaneously very good at working together and extremely keen on keeping the edge over one another. Daniel _hates_ that he's not the smartest guy in the room when Dylan's around, but he also loves it, and the delicious frustration of it is a high Dylan loves to keep feeding him.

Daniel's eyes narrow, darken. Dylan knows they're both going to crack one day and do this thing. He doesn't know when. Hell, maybe it's going to be now. Any moment now, in fact — he can feel it. Merritt likes to talk bullshit about binaural rhythms and feeling another person's aura, which they all know is just fancy psychic bullshit. But sometimes Dylan wonders if there's something to the idea that you can feel the energy radiating from another person. He feels it between them now, radiating in waves from Daniel's body as Dylan moves closer.

"Say I'm the assistant," Daniel says, his voice dropping. "How would you flatter me, Mr. Strike?"

He sounds _so_ smug, and the tone of it, the tone of his voice and his lips forming that fucking _formal address_ , singes Dylan's blood. He laughs before he can help it, but it's a thick, guarded sound. Daniel _knows_ he's actually more of a turn-on when he's at his most arrogant and condescending; it makes Dylan want to do all manner of unseemly things to him to put him in his place, and he suspects — no, he knows — that Daniel would actually love letting him. Ugh, fuck, they're actually going to do this. Sooner rather than later. It's going to be... amazing. Unwise and unruly and unguarded and _definitely_ unseemly. Amazing.

"You're such a brat," he says. "I'd find out your area of expertise — we know she's really into ornithology, for example, so I'd approach her with a related subject. A question that only she could know the answer to."

"Something bird-related," says Daniel, sounding just _so_ amused.

"No," Dylan snaps, and he can't help it — he lifts his hand and cups Daniel's cheek. "Something _her_ -related." Daniel's eyes go wide and panicked for half an instant, and then his expression seems to sink into something alert and ready and fragile. It's a look that tugs, makes Dylan's thumb move of its own accord to stroke Daniel's jawline.

"We make her feel like she's the only expert in the world, the only one who can come to your aid in that particular moment," he says. "The only one who can give you what you want."

Daniel draws in a shaky breath.

"Are you?" he asks. "Are you the only one who can give me what I want?"

And then they're kissing, and Dylan says _yes_ , and _yes_ , and _yes_ , against Daniel's mouth, against his throat, against his sweat-slicked skin; until finally — for once — Daniel is forced to admit that Dylan is right.


End file.
